Murder Eyes
by Miss-Murdered
Summary: Duo owns a tattoo shop and is curious about a particular customer with "murder eyes" who only gets tally marks tattooed on his arm. 2x1.


Disclaimer: Don't own (I'm retro)

Pairings/Warnings: 2x1, m/m sexual relations, angst, hints of violence, tattoos, bad language

A/N: Thanks to ELLE for the beta and for helping re-inspire me. This is based off a prompt I saw on tumblr some time ago...

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 **Murder Eyes**

She called him "Murder Eyes". Hell, Hilde thought she was funny for calling him that but Duo only rolled his eyes at the nickname. He supposed it was better than calling him nothing. As Duo didn't know his name after all this damn time but Duo didn't refer to him as "murder eyes" as it sounded dumb and melodramatic. Like something from a pre-colony serial broadcast in the early hours of the morning.

The guy's eyes were intense, they were the deepest blue he'd ever seen but they sure as hell weren't the eyes of a killer. He had seen the eyes of a killer before – he'd seen his own eyes in the mirror. And this guy didn't look haunted. Not like Duo was. Not like Duo would always be.

The first time he'd visited Shinigami Studios tattoo parlour, Duo had thought the guy was lost. After all, it was a tattoo shop in the shittiest part of the shittiest colony and Duo had a certain type of clientele and he just didn't fit it. He had walked in wearing a crisp expensive designer shirt, black trousers, loafers and Duo had chuckled when he'd looked up from the sketch he had been working on.

"Lost, buddy? This is a tattoo shop."

"That's exactly what I'm here for," he'd answered.

Duo had abandoned the elaborate sketch of a circus elephant for another client and instead looked up and down the guy that was stood in his shop, swinging his braid over his shoulder as he did.

"What can I do for you?"

That first time Duo hadn't really thought much about it. Really, Duo got some weird ass requests for tattoos and spent his time not judging the images and reasoning's behind those images being imprinted into people's skin. Despite being a consummate artist, Duo didn't look down on the people that got stars and flowers and names and whatever else some pretentious artists thought were shitty tattoos. Everyone had their reasons for ink. And Duo was a patchwork of different reasons. Some were for the dead, some were reminders and some were for pure aesthetic reasons. Every tattoo didn't need a story, Duo thought, and he didn't judge Mr Crisp Shirt and Messy Hair for his choice.

Or at least he didn't judge it. Not until he came back. Not until he came back another time after that. And each time Duo tattooed the same thing on the guy's tanned forearm.

Lines. A damn tally chart and each time the guy had come he had wanted a different number. And each time Duo became more and more curious about his customer and his request.

Hilde, his partner in the shop and fellow tattoo artist, had started to come up with elaborate reasons for the choice of tattoos. Duo listened, fuck, did he try to listen but mostly he zoned out. As shit, his own theories were distracted by the fact that whenever the guy visited, Duo found his stomach rolling and he found himself leaning into the guy's body more than he needed. He smelt good – better than most of the people he inked and Duo always found his body heating up and his skin tingling when they were close.

It was lust, Duo figured. He was hot in a vintage James Dean kinda way. The time he walked in with jeans and a plain white tee and just fucked hair, Duo tried not to stare too damn much. As each visit to the shop was brief and each time Duo did the same thing. He tattooed some fucking stupid ass lines.

The lines. He dreamed about those stupid lines. And he wanted to do something else on the guy's skin. He wanted to trail angel wings and koi's and water and fire and spend hours labouring over his scarred skin. But all he ever wanted was those lines.

He asked. Of course, Duo asked. But there was always someone in the shop. Hilde was there just hanging around or she was tattooing someone. And so he never got the answer. Never got his name. Not until one visit. The fifth.

Duo was tattooing a regular. Trowa was a circus performer, something that Duo still wanted to laugh about when he was thinking how fucking ridiculous "lion tamer" was on a resume, though he supposed former thief and criminal wasn't much better. And he was busy on a back piece while Trowa appeared to sleep when Hilde said those words that sent shivers up his spine.

"Murder eyes is here."

He couldn't do it then. Couldn't as he had an appointment and a large amount of outlining to do. And Trowa was part of a travelling circus so God only knew when he'd be back. So Duo took a break, removed his gloves and ran his fingers through his hair as he stared at him.

"Come back tonight at close, 'kay?"

Hilde had tried to stick around. Her own curiosity about "murder eyes" was almost as intense as Duo's. But Duo texted a mutual friend and soon Hilde was leaving for drinks and dancing with 'Lena. Duo never let on he'd organised the fun and as Hilde never asked, he didn't have to lie to her. As he never could lie to her.

Yet he would. About him.

He wanted three lines on his skin and Duo did them, diligently, as always, the whirring of the tattoo machine breaking the silence. And Duo asked, again, yet this time he got his answer. At least one of his answers.

"Heero."

The name felt weird on Duo's lips. He practised it, repeating it back like an echo. It tasted of dust and ink and as Duo finished the last line, he wanted to delay the inevitable moment Heero would leave.

He wanted to know more. A name wasn't enough but the answer didn't come. Not that time and when Duo cleaned up the new marks on imperfect skin, their touches lingered and he felt himself fucking drowning in blue eyes. His breath hitched and nothing damn well happened.

Nothing would. Or so he figured. The guy, no, Heero was just some crazy guy with a really boring idea to get tattooed that he was just repeating again and again. But when Duo was alone, in bed, the fan rippling at his blankets in the stale air, he thought they meant something. Just as the stars hidden in his right sleeve. Just like the rose and cross across his sternum. He would trace those lines, trace the black swirls and he wondered what those lines meant. As he sure as hell came a long way for a bad tattoo.

Anyone could do it. Hilde could do it. But Heero came back every damn time.

And Duo would think about it, obsess about it and he would drink bottles of shitty L2 made bourbon and dream of blue eyes and that tally chart. And in those drunken moments, Duo would wonder if he was the reason that Heero returned. That he felt some connection liked Duo did. Duo would think then that he was too fucking drunk and was thinking like a romantic fool and he'd fall asleep and slobber on the pillow. But still that thought lingered… there had to be reason Heero wanted those tattoos from _him._ There had to be.

He completed beautiful tattoos. Memorials to the dead, symbols of rebirth and strength and images of new born baby hands and yet the tattoo he thought about most was Heero's. And Duo had to find out what it meant. Next time, he always said to himself, he would find out.

It wasn't the next time. Or the time after that. Duo had reached 33 lines etched onto Heero's skin by the time he found out what they meant.

And maybe wished he never knew. Wish that Heero hadn't picked his damn shop and crashed into his life like a shooting star. As Duo had promised he'd go straight. Had promised he'd never pick up a gun again and yet there he was pointing a gun at a bleeding Heero in his shop.

The shop had been broken into, his remote alarm telling Duo so, and that's when he found Heero in the dark and bleeding.

It was the last thing Duo wanted. He'd gone legit, he'd opened the shop on stolen money but that was the last criminal thing he'd damn well done… He wasn't going to do anything else criminal and he was going to atone. He had too damn much to atone for.

He wanted to throw Heero out. Wanted things to be less complicated but Heero fell into his arms and Duo smelt the sweat and gunpowder and blood and he couldn't do it. Always had been a damn sucker despite it all. Always cared too much in the end.

Heero was in his bed. Half naked. Patched up. Duo had done his best, his old rudimentary medical knowledge stopping the bleeding and Heero was at least no longer staining his sheets. Duo had thought he was done with blood stained sheets – he'd left that battle scarred life behind.

Sat at the end of the bed, drinking cold coffee, Duo watched the rise and fall of Heero's chest and he knew this time… this time he had to know the goddamn truth.

And in the harsh colony morning light, Heero woke, his eyelashes fluttering and Duo wondered what the hell he was doing and thought he should throw Heero out onto the shitty streets. As Heero told him about those lines. In a monotonous voice, his eyes looking at the bedspread rather than at Duo.

"Each one is someone I killed. I'm contracted to kill people. It's my job."

"Why the hell did you come to me for the fucking tattoos? Any idiot with a tattoo machine could've done it!"

Heero didn't answer at first. And frustrated, Duo gets to his feet and runs his hands through his hair. And that's when Heero reaches out, his reflexes sharp despite the injury and pain and Duo found himself held in a vice like grip. Duo could get out of the hold, he knows he could but he knows he will hurt Heero. He remembers Solo's advice – that he should always exploit any weakness but fuck, Heero looks pathetic in his bed and Duo can't lash out. Not yet. Even if he knows he can overpower Heero despite the muscles he can see as he lies half naked in Duo's bed.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" Heero asked, his voice wavering.

And Duo shook his head. "We've all got a little bit of monster in us."

The response is not what Duo expects but his body reacts prior to his brain. He's pulled down and Duo stumbles into the bed and into Heero and into the kiss like a goddamn drunk. The kiss is fierce and tastes of sleep and sickness and blood and there's a jar of teeth and Duo thinks it's the fucking best and worst kiss he's ever had. He knows he hurts Heero, he feels the shudder of his skin and the tremble of his muscles and Duo tries to back away but a hand wraps around his braid as though Heero is using it as an anchor.

Removing clothes is clumsy and Duo is glad that Heero is mostly unclothed as there's unhealed wounds and there's ways he could open them if they are not careful. But Heero doesn't want careful and Duo doesn't want gentle so when Heero's hand strokes Duo's cock, he forgets gentle and a growl rises in his throat and his teeth worry at Heero's lower lip.

Duo doesn't admit he fantasied about this moment. Doesn't let Heero know that as he blows hot air on his dick and licks down the length. As the fantasy is nothing in comparison. It's rougher and sharper and intense and when Heero's huffs out heavy sighs and jerks underneath him, Duo closes his eyes and forgets all the reasons the whole situation is a bad idea.

As shit… Heero kills people and Duo knows he shouldn't judge but there's 33 lines. That's 33 lives. And Duo doesn't know if they deserve death. Doesn't know why Heero was hired. And Duo doesn't want to think about it. He's killed, there's enough blood on his hands, but he has given up that life. He is an artist even though his brush is the tattoo machine and he shouldn't fuck around with someone like Heero. But he does.

They fuck. It's not perfect at first. It's like they don't work together. As Duo is kissing at Heero's neck and his dick is inside Heero's body but it's all still and shaky and awkward. And Duo can feel the heat in his stomach and he can see the blue of Heero's eyes even though they are half-closed. They find a rhythm, it starts slow and Heero moves his hips and soon it's good. And hot. And sweaty. And it feels as though they are under the harsh colonial spot-light and Duo bites down at Heero's neck and licks at the mark as his hips continue their moves.

Heero touches the ink on his arm, touches the rose across his heart and they don't last long. Not like this. Not after every damn thing. Duo comes first and then he brings Heero off with his hand and then it's over and there's nothing but the slick feeling of Duo's skin and the heavy breathing.

There's pain as Duo moves, he can see it on Heero's face as he flinches and he throws over a towel as he searches for a clean t-shirt in the rubble of his apartment.

"Hilde was right," Duo says as he sits back on the bed, his back towards Heero as he pulls on boxer shorts.

Heero makes a noise. A cross between "huh" and "hmmm" and Duo turns to see his eyes closed and his body exposed. And he's like a painting, hair mussed and body posed in a perfect display of just fucked. There's a part of Duo that wants his sketch book and to capture the image but there's another part of him that just wants to remember it, imprint it on his mind and Duo does just that as he laughs softly about Hilde's dumbass nickname.

"She calls you "Murder Eyes". She thought a look from you could kill, you know?"

A snort is the answer and Duo lies down beside Heero, his shoulder brushing Heero's in the confined space of his bed.

"Looks don't kill."

Duo knows they don't, knows it's a stupid ass nickname but when he turns to look at Heero and those blue eyes stare into his own, he feels the shiver down his spine and he wonders what the hell he got himself into. And instead of wondering and worrying about the lethal man in his bed, Duo closes his eyes and tries to sleep, his dreams haunted by guns and inked lines and the bluest damn eyes.

He doesn't tell Hilde about Heero. About his name and about his tattoo. She asks and Duo claims ignorance, the lie feeling odd on his tongue and his throat constricting. He goes back to his life and tattoos hundreds of people and he waits and waits and waits until Heero comes back.

And when he arrives, he doesn't want lines. He wants a phoenix and Duo tries not to look so damn obviously happy and goofy. As he freehands the design onto Heero's torso with a pen, the right side, he asks why he kept coming back and Heero speaks quietly, conscious of the other's in the shop.

"Because you had the same look in your eyes."

Duo isn't sure if it's a compliment or not but he does the tattoo with a small smile on his face as he knows the reason that Heero doesn't need any more lines adding to his tally chart. And he sure as hell knows Heero isn't innocent or atoned for his sins but he's trying… just like Duo is.


End file.
